MAY BE DIM
Taro was as dim as he was huge. Three heads taller than everyone else, broad backed, sturdy waisted. He was useful despite his bum leg. Sometimes, on a dare, he would pick up the village horse—a small mangy thing with soft hooves and a nasty case of ringworm. So nasty, in fact, that not even the children risked petting it. But Taro didn’t care. He hefted the animal up and counted to ten. He set it down. The wise ones clapped. The children squealed and fled and wouldn’t play with him again until he bathed in the hottest of hot springs, until the wee ones deemed all the itchy bugs were gone. He did whatever he was told. Taro was useful.
In his thirteenth year he was given a very important job. Theirs was a small village, the soil too rocky, the weather too harsh. It was a commun
